


Haresis dea

by Iroto



Series: Ritual [3]
Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crying, Dom/sub, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, This is all sex like always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 17:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12237051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iroto/pseuds/Iroto
Summary: I'm back with more pwp! There might be some grammar mistakes, I am sorry. I'm not native speaker.Have fun :)





	Haresis dea

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with more pwp! There might be some grammar mistakes, I am sorry. I'm not native speaker. 
> 
> Have fun :)

I never would have thought I could be like this, Omega thinks, fleetingly, and not for the first time. Not in a million years.

Now, however...

“You’re having a really hard time getting out of there,” Papa murmurs, his voice interrupting the swirling thoughts as he taps his fingers gently on the side of Omega's skull. He sinks down to his knees on the carpet, bringing himself level to Omega, brushing his fringe out of his eyes and kissing his forehead. “Aren’t you?”

Omega nods.

“Any particular reason, hmm?”

Omega shakes his head.

Papa considers him a moment, sucking his lower lip between his teeth in contemplation.

“The blindfold, I think,” Papa finally decides aloud, turning away slightly to pick up a folded silk scarf from the bedside table. He drapes it across Omega's eyes, ties it carefully, knotting the fabric in a neat, flat knot at at the back of his head, taking care not to catch or tug at his hair.

“Breathe slow and deep, and focus on your senses,” Papa tells him. “On your body, instead of your mind.”

Omega does as instructed, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, cataloguing the sensory input of his body, from his bare toes on up, through his flexed calves, his knees beginning to ache from kneeling, the thin bedside rug providing little cushioning against the hardwood underneath...

“Tell me,” Papa says, his voice gone deeper already, more commanding. “Tell me what you feel, my ghoul.”

Omega's not under yet; the endless data streams are still buzzing and circling around in his brain, the chatter insistent, and the distraction of it keeps him from the task at hand, unable to do the one thing required of him when they two of them come together like this -- to obey, without thought or question.

And Papa...well, he’s unpredictable, deliberately so, keeping Omega from being able to foretell his actions and commands. Sometimes he wants Omega to be quiet and still, as unresisting and pliant as a doll when Papa fucks him, punishing him severely for a single twitch or moan. Sometimes, he urges Omega to be noisy, to scream and cry out his pain and pleasure. And sometimes, he likes to make Omega talk, orders him to describe in filthy detail what he feels, what he wants, what Papa is doing to him.

Omega really doesn’t like the talking. Doing is one thing, but putting it all into words and saying them -- it isn’t logical or rational, but somehow the filthy words makes it all just slightly too real, amplifies all his feelings of vulnerability and shamed powerlessness -- and all of this means, in this confusing and contradictory calculus, that he loves it, he loves and craves these sensations like the drug they are to him, but at the same time he doesn’t like it.

These thoughts pour themselves into the whirlpool of this mind, and before he can catch himself, he shakes his head reflexively. No.

He’s answered instantly by a swift and stinging slap to his right cheekbone; his head snaps hard to the side with the force of impact, making him see stars under the darkness of the blindfold. His head is still ringing from the blow when Papa grabs his face, hard along his jaw, and kisses him, rough and demanding, tongue pushing insistently into his mouth before he draws back and slaps him again.

The pain blooms bright and sharp and perfect, shocking the endless chattering loops in his brain into stunned silence.

“Tell me,” Papa repeats, the steel in his voice now undeniable, inescapable.

Freed from the distraction of his own mind, Omega is able to start to sink down into that sweeter, easier place, the ritualized restraint and dominance and deliberate violence strangely but profoundly soothing, letting him drift away from the demands of conscious thought.

When he speaks, he can hear the difference in his own voice.

“It’s dark,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. “The silk is raw, the texture is... rough but also soft.”

“Good boy,” Papa murmurs approvingly, stroking his sore and throbbing cheekbone, fingers circling the shell of his ear, stroking his neck. “Keep going.”

“My collar. It’s snug but not tight. Familiar. Comforting. My wrists are behind my back, restrained by cuffs. The leather is stiffer, and connected to the collar by a short length of heavy chain. We haven’t used these before. My arms are higher, my elbows tighter against my back than I’m used to. It’s not painful. It’s just. different.”

Papa hums his approval;. His fingertips slide across Omega's collarbone, tracing the dip between his pectorals. “Tell me more.”

“The air is cool against my skin, and my knees ache a little, already. Not in a bad way, just.” Omega takes a deep, shaky breath. “It reminds me.”

“Of what?” Papa asks him, as his thumb finds Omega's nipple, traces a circle around the outside edge of the areolae. The shivers ripple across Omega's skin, the first silver sparks of pleasure beginning to race along his nerves as the riot of chemicals in his bloodstream begin to take over, pushing him further down into that dark, strange, exhiliarating place.

“It reminds me that I’m -- that I’m on my knees.” He takes a breath; saying this part out loud, even after all of this, is the most difficult. “That I’m submitting. To you, Papa.”

“How does that make you feel?” Papa asks, low and serious.

“I feel --” Omega breathes out, and lets the last bit of his constructed self crumble, lets his mind slip away completely, and it’s finally peaceful, still and quiet, the thick sweet tide of subspace flowing into him, soothing the sharp and splintered edges inside his mind and soul. “I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Shame, humiliation, producing a strong catecholamine response and amplify -- amplifying arousal. And I -- I like it.”

“You like it?”

“I love it,” Omega admits, his voice rough and catching on the words. His cock twitches and swells at the words, straining against the leather of the ring Papa slipped onto him, snug around his cock and balls, and the feel of it -- the physical reminder of Papa's control over his body, over his pleasure and his orgasm -- makes him fully hard. The pressure of the cock ring now tight against his erect shaft and his full swollen testicles, and a single low whimper escapes from his throat at the sensation.

Papa chuckles, low and predatory, and dips his hand between Omega's legs. He strokes his length to full, aching hardness as he kisses him, more tenderly this time but still demanding, still commanding obedience. His tongue pushes into Omega's mouth and Omega meets him eagerly, welcoming the incursion, wordlessly offering himself up with the eagerness of his mouth and tongue against Papa's.

Papa pulls back, almost reluctantly, closing his teeth down on Omega's lower lip with just the barest hint of force, tugging gently just once before letting go. He presses kisses to the edge of his jaw, nips at his earlobe with slightly more force, stopping just short of actual pain before letting go.

“Look how hard you are already,” he murmurs against the shell of Omega's ear, still stroking his trapped, throbbing dick. “It turns you on so much, being like this. Naked, restrained, submissive. Ready and eager to be used.” His hot mouth presses another kiss to the juncture of his jaw, warm breath puffing against his neck. He strokes Omega's cock once, twice more before releasing him. Omega's cock twitches upwards as his hips flex involuntarily, helplessly seeking lost contact as Papa's fingertips skate up his belly, and back to his right areola. Papa flicks his thumb against the hardened tip, lightly at first, then presses down, rubbing more roughly.

Deprived of vision, every sensation is seemingly multiplied a hundredfold, the friction against his nipple sending sparks of pleasure through his nerves. Omega gasps, his back arching involuntarily, as Papa rolls his nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugging more roughly at the nub of delicate flesh, making the sensitive nerves spark and sing with pain.

“Tell me more,” Papa demands,

“It feels like -- electricity.” It’s getting harder to form coherent sentences, but he fumbles to obey, to please Papa, to give him what he wants. “Sparks and shocks when you touch me. When you -- when you play with me.” Self-awareness fading in the onslaught of pleasure and desire, words are starting to tumble out now, unexamined and unbidden. “I feel hot and cold all over and -- it just feels so good, and I want it, I want, just, I want--”

Papa stops his mouth with another kiss, then nips at his neck, the juncture of his shoulder as he moves his fingers to the other side of his torso, flicking and rubbing at the pebbled flesh. He’s more aggressive now, just up to the edge of too rough, making Omega's nipple ache and throb as the pain transmutes, sharpening the edge of his pleasure, making him shiver and whimper, low moans trapped in his throat as he finds himself caught between warring impulses, wanting to both pull away and beg for more at the same time.

“Oh Lucifer, I love your nipples,” Papa sigh, his steely voice softened with just a touch tender reverence. “Such small delicate bits of skin, but the way it drives you mad. I could watch you like this all day, just teasing and torturing you like this and never even touching your cock. Could you come like this, I wonder, mmh? What do you think my ghoul?”

Omega shudders and gasps. “I don’t -- I don’t -- maybe, I don’t --”

“I bet you could if I pierced them,” Papa muses aloud. “Barbells that rub and catch on your clothes, making them hard all day long, keeping you so turned on all day long that you beg for me to touch, tug and bite and suck on them. I’d never even touch your cock, just play with your tits until you come hard all over yourself like the shameless little slut you are. You would love that, I bet. Wouldn’t you?”

Omega gasps raggedly but he doesn’t reply, and Papa sinks the crescent of his thumbnail hard into the already-puffy, overly sensitized flesh of his nipple The pain is bright and crystalline, and Omega cries out in pain and pleasure.

“Answer me,” Papa growls.

“Yes,” Omega gasps. “Yes, I would love it.”

“Why would you love it?” Papa demands. The pressure increases. The pain is searing, and Omega imagines pinpricks of blood, dotting the purpling crescent mark that will remain.

“I love when you hurt me.” The words are tumbling out now, unbidden almost unaware. “Mark me, hurt me, use me, own me. Please. Oh, Papa. Please.”

Papa chuckles again, but it’s fondness, not derision.

“That’s right.,” he says with approval, releasing his hold on his nipple, rubbing the flesh with gentle fingers to soothe the burn. “Because I own you, you’re mine, and I love the way you look when I hurt you.” He kisses Omega's already-sweaty temple, just above the fabric of the blindfold. “Gorgeous pain slut,” he murmurs, and there’s a soft scrape of fabric against the rug as Papa turns on his knee, a metallic jingle as he retrieve an item from the night table.

“I’m going to pierce you soon” he says. “But for now, these will have to do.”

Omega tenses involuntarily in anticipation of what he knows is coming

The bite of the clover clamp on his left nipple is shockingly sharp, making him gasp a harsh indrawn breath; before he can even cry out, Papa fastens the other clamp on his right with dextrous fingers. The weight of the chain connecting them settles between his pectorals, the tug on his trapped and tortured nipples an exquisite ache.

Omega gives a single, low moan.

“Just gorgeous mmm,” Papa murmurs with approval. He rises to his feet, weaves his fingers into Omega's thin hair, and pulls his head back to tip his face upwards, not roughly but with unmistakable authority.

“What should I do with you now?” he asks. “Perfect pretty slave, chained and clamped, naked and squirming. How would you like to be used today, little aether ghoul?”

Despite his occasional and surprising unpredictability as a dom, Omega knows this is what fuels Papa's lust like nothing else. Making Omega ask for his pleasure, making him beg for his own defilement -- it unfailingly drives Papa mad with desire.

Omega is deeply sunk into subspace now, all reluctance and shame burned away, and this awareness of what he’s doing to Papa makes the shivers of pleasure at his own humiliation all the sweeter.

“I want your cock,” he breathes, his voice unrecognizable to himself, broken and pleading. “Please, Papa.”

Papa curls his hand around the back of his head, pulls his face into the crotch of his pants. Omega whimpers, pressing himself against the warm heat, mouthing blindly at bulge of Papa's cock, rigid and engorged under the layers of restraining fabric.

“Where do you want it?”

“I want it in my mouth,” he says, the words muffled by the denim of Papa's pants.

“Beg for it,” Papa demands, and Omega obeys, tripping over his words in his eagerness.

“Please, Papa, please let me have your cock. Fuck my mouth until I can’t breathe, choke me on your cock, please, please --”

Papa tightens his hold on the hair at the back of his head, pulls him away from his crotch, and Omega hears him skillfully unbutton and unzip his pants with his right hand, shoving them down his hips just enough so he can free himself from layers of heavy fabric. There’s a soft sliding sound as Papa takes himself in his right hand, then he pulls Omega's head forward and rubs the very head of his cock lewdly against his lips, painting them with warm, slightly thick precome.

“You want me to fuck your face, my ghoul?” he growls. His voice has gone totally different now, and Omega can sense the final shift, can feel how Papa's whole being has changed. He’s given himself over now, surrendered to his darkest animal impulses to control and dominate and hurt and fuck, and that shift makes Omega shiver hot and cold all over with fear and arousal and desire.

“Yes,” he breathes, tasting bitterness the sticky wet precome coating his lips. He dares to blindly dart out his tongue, finding the head of Papa's cock and licking at the wet slit, savouring another burst of musky animal flavour.

Papa reacts with a tiny intake of breath, then both his hands tangle into his hair, pulling him in hard as he sinks himself deep into his mouth, grabbing his head, setting a punishing pace as he thrusts over and over, fucking his face hard and merciless, making Omega drool helplessly, gagging when the head of his thick cock hits the back of his throat, barely giving him any chance to breathe.

He had heard the phrase ‘cock worship’ before, in the porn clip but he’d never truly understood the meaning of the words until he’d found himself so tremendously lucky in life to have Papa Emeritus’ gorgeous penis available to him. On his knees, now, worships his cock in every possible sense, sucking him with grateful enthusiasm, moaning in ecstasy at the feel of his shaft hot and silky-hard in his mouth, tasting of salt and musk and pure masculine sex. Omega finds shockingly intense pleasure in pleasuring Papa like this; he doesn’t even register the mewling and whimpering sounds he’s making as his mouth slides up and down the thick shaft, tongue expertly licking and massaging at the prominent vein on the underside, even as Papa's rough use makes him gag and gasp for air between thrusts.

“Oh my Satan,” Papa groans. “Your mouth, your gorgeous slut mouth was made to be fucked hard, wasn’t it. Lucifer, fuck, look at you, the way you love this.” He yanks hard at his hair, pulls his head back, slowly, his cock slipping out of his open wet mouth inch by inch. “I could do this to you all day long, watch the way your lips stretch around my cock, the drool dripping off your chin as I fuck your mouth.” He pulls his head back down, shuddering and grunting as he shoves his cock roughly down his throat, making him gag hard, cutting off his airway momentarily as his face and nose are mashed down into the warm, musky hair at the base of his cock, then pulling his back up just to do it again, over and over, until time ceases to matter, until all of Omega's awareness narrows down to the weight and taste of Papa's cock in his mouth, the ache in his jaws and the tingling pain in his nipples as the heavy chain connecting them sways with each thrust.

Papa gives a low, moaning kind of sigh, and pulls Omega back, his cock sliding wetly out of his mouth, then takes himself back in hand, pulling his cock up as he tugs Omega's face back into his groin as he spreads his legs wider. Omega understands the unspoken command, licking at Papa's warm, furred testicles, drawing first one and then the other into his mouth, suckling them as Papa strokes himself from root to tip, breath coming in harsh ragged gasps.

“I want to come,” he pants. “Oh Satan, I want to come, I want to blow all over your gorgeous face and lick it back off. Fuck.” He gives a single, drawn-out groan, then slows the movement of his hand, then yanks Omega away from his task, grasps the base of his own cock and stills, breathing hard through his nose as he staves off his imminent orgasm.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Fuck, that was so close.”

As the near moment passes, Papa's fingers loosen their tight hold on Omega's hair, massaging and petting him instead of yanking as he gently wipes off Omega's wet chin with other hand.

“But there’s so much more I want to do to you, my beautiful ghoul,” he breathes, “So very much more.”

He lets go of Omega's hair; Omega feels cold and adrift for a moment without the anchoring contact, but then he hears the sounds of Papa divesting himself of his clothing and a moment later, he feels fingers slip under his collar and tug, none too gently.

“Up,” Papa snaps, and Omega scrambles to comply, unable to balance himself with his arms restrained behind his back, flailing clumsily in his blindness as Papa hauls him up over the side of the mattress, pushing him facedown onto the bed. They hadn’t gotten around to making it today, and the smooth cool cotton of the rumpled sheets bunches under his elbows as Papa manouevers him how he wishes.

He ends up with his knees at the edge of the mattress, spread wide enough that his belly and chest are pressed almost flat into the bed, his tortured nipples flaring up in fresh pain as the movement and friction makes the devilish clover clamps tighten even further.

And then Papa pauses, takes a step back.

Omega waits, his own breathing loud in his ears, knowing that Papa is looking at him, eyes raking over the vision he presents. He wonders how he looks to Papa's eyes, as his green gaze takes in his bare, awkward feet hanging over the edge of the bed; his spread legs, exposed perineum and asshole completely open to view; the sheen of sweat pooling on the dip in his lower back; his hands, cuffed and helpless behind his back.

His constrained cock pulses, a dribble of precome smearing wet against the sheets as his heart pounds in anticipation of whatever creative torment Papa wishes to inflict.

What he doesn’t expect is the sound of a cap being unscrewed, and the cool plastic of a water bottle against his lower lip.

“Drink,” Papa says, tipping the bottle up; Omega drinks, awkward and blind without the use of hands or eyes. Papa takes the bottle away, wipes a drop of water away from Omega's lower lip with his thumb and sets the bottle back down on the side table.

Papa is quiet for a moment, combing his fingers through Omega's hair in a brief moment of shared respite.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Yes," Omega answers, roughened voice muffled against the sheets.

“You can, if you want to,” Papa murmurs. Even through the fog of pleasure and frustrated torment, Omega understands the shorthand of the statement, reminding him of his capacity to choose this, reminding him of his safewords.

Omega turns his head so he can speak clearly.

“No,” he says, simple and declarative.

“Good,” Papa murmurs, as his fingers leave Omega's hair, trace across his shoulder, caress his back. He briefly traces the scars that mark him there, then moves down to his flanks, touching and stroking his sweat-sheened skin with both hand, in gesture that can only be described as reverent. “So gorgeous.” He cups Omega's buttocks in his hands, stroking, squeezing, kneading. “Your ass is...Mmhh. It’s fucking transcendent. I could spend my life thinking of what I want to do this ass.”

There’s a soft thump as Papa drops to his knees on the bedside rug. His warm mouth presses into the skin at the back of Omega's thigh, soft, slow kisses as he squeezes and kneads and strokes the rounded curve of his buttocks.

The kisses turn into long, leisurely strokes of his tongue, teasing him mercilessly, drawing ever closer to the cleft of his ass; Omega shudders, hips flexing involuntarily into the mattress, the friction against his nipples and the underside of his cock a torturous pleasure as he pushes his ass up in the air, shamelessly begging for that hot, rough tongue to find its way up higher, just a little higher --

Papa pulls away slightly, gives a dark chuckle, and delivers a swift, open-handed slap against the roundest part of Omega's right ass cheek. The pain is a delicious burning heat, making Omega moan and thrust even harder against the mattress.

“Look at you,” Papa chides him. “Humping the bed like a dirty little slut.” He smacks him again, harder, on the left cheek this time. “But the way it makes your ass jiggle and shake. Oh Lucifer.” He delivers another stinging blow. “You’re so fucking hot like this.” He grabs his arse with both hands, spreads him wide open, pushes his face in between his cheeks and licks a broad stripe from the base of his testicles to his tailbone. “So delicious,” he murmurs, his breath hot against Omega's sensitive skin, then flicks his tongue directly against the tight knot of his asshole. Omega gives a ragged, gasping cry of pleasure.

“You like that?” Papa asks. “When I lick you there?”

“Oh Satan ,” Omega moans. “Oh Papa, yes. Yes.”

Papa circles his opening again, more pressure this time, the rough softness of his tongue exquisite against the incredibly sensitive skin.

“Ask me for it,” he breathes, voice deep enough to make Omega's skin prickle and shiver.

“I-- I-- just--” Omega chokes out.

Papa pulls back, slaps Omega hard on his left arse cheek.

“Good ghouls get what they ask for,” he growls. “Are you a good ghoul, hmm?”

“Yes,” he moans, broken and desperate and near tears. “I’ll be good, I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

“Then ask me for what you want.”

“Eat me out,” Omega moaned, pushed beyond any semblance of shame or pride. “Eat my ass, fuck me with your tongue, just, Lucifer, please, please --”

“Good boy,” Papa purrs in approval, and bends to his task, holding Omega down and spreading him wide open with both hands as he licks and sucks enthusiastically at his asshole, swirling and flicking, licking him open, pushing into him with a pointed insistent tongue as Omega moans and shivers, the pleasure winding up higher, tight and red hot deep in his pelvis.

If it weren’t for the cock ring he would have come untouched long ago, would have shuddered and spent himself against the tangled blue sheets, but the snug leather circles his shaft and bisects his scrotum, holding him snugly, the pressure making him unable to orgasm, keeping him on the agonizing precipice as Papa's tongue fucks him, occasionally pulling back to bite or slap the swell of his ass or massage and stroke his trapped, swollen balls. Omega whimpers and moans, wantonly thrusting his aching cock against the tangled sheets.

The silk blindfold is damp with frustrated tears by the time Papa breaks away, wiping his face on the sheets before kissing the curve of Omega's hip. Fingertips brush against his spit-slick asshole, as Papa pushes his thumb expertly into his perineum, finding just the right spot to stimulae his prostate externally.

“This is how I like you best,” he murmurs, as his skilled fingers continue to torment Omega. “Desperate with need and aching to come. My eager little fucktoy, wanting so badly to be used and abused.”

As he murmurs his filthy endearments, Papa brings his thumb up, presses into his wet, loosened opening. Omega can’t help but moan brokenly and press himself down against the intrusion, shamelessly seeking deeper penetration.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? To be filled up full, stretched out and fucked until your asshole is stretched open, sore and raw.” Keeping his thumb working inside Omega, Papa bends slightly, rummages briefly for the tube of slick on the night table. His thumb slips out of his opening, Omega hears the unmistakable click of the cap, and then the cool squelch of lube as Papa presses in deeper with two fingers, setting a slow, steady rhythm that makes ega see stars behind the darkness of the blindfold.

The stretch of it, the initial tight burning fullness that never fades no matter how often they do this -- the deep, intimate pain bleeds over into pleasure, lights his entire body on fire, the pulsing, throbbing pleasure expanding into and all-consuming need to be filled, penetrated, held down and fucked beyond thought, beyond will, mounted and fucked into exhaustion like a mindless helpless animal --

“I want you to hear you beg,” Papa hisses into his ear. “Beg me to fuck you raw.”

“Fuck me,” Omega cries out, almost a howl, uncontrollable body shudders racking his body. “I need, please, Papa, oh my Satan please just fuck me.”

Papa slips his fingers out of his entrance, leaving him open and wet with cooling lube; the mattress creaks and dips as he clambers up into bed, briefly arranging himself before pulling Omega up to kneeling position by his collar and wrapping a hand around the back of his neck, steadying him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice gentler, sounding a little more like his usual self. “I’m gonna take the blindfold off, okay?”

Omega nods, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself upright.

Papa makes quick work of slipping the knotted fabric up and off his head. Omega blinks and squints for a moment; the bedroom is only lit by the lamp on the table, but it’s still bright after the prolonged darkness of the blindfold.

“Beautiful ghoul,” Papa murmurs, and kisses his cheek with a tenderness that almost brings Omega to tears. He arranges the pillows and sits up against the headboard, stiff dusky red cock jutting up proudly from between his legs. “Shift up here a bit, all right? Knee over, just like that, okay.” He carefully guides Omega into a straddling position, his knobby knees astride Papa's hips. He ends up making sure he doesn’t tip over from lack of balance. Omega looks down at him with wide, worshipful eyes, watching him Papa closely as he plucks the tube of slick from the rumpled sheets, pops open the cap. He coats his thick, lovely cock with a palmful of lube, stroking himself back to full hardness as his heavy-lidded eyes rake up and down Omega's body, from his trapped swollen nipples and the heavy chain dangling between them down to his engorged cock, shiny and almost purpling from the constraint of the leather ring.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” Papa murmurs, his voice barely a hoarse whisper. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. My beautiful pet, my beautiful ghoul.” He nudges Omega's thighs wider with his hands, takes hold of himself, nudges the head of his wet cock into the cleft of his arse. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes,” Omega breathes, almost unable to form words or coherent thoughts, desperate for the feel of Papa inside him. “Papa, yes, now.”

Papa thrusts upward without hesitation, seeking and finding with unerring instinct borne of long intimacy, groaning as his cock breaches Omega's body and sinks home with a single long, slow slide. Omega closes his eyes and moans at the feel of it, the marvelous sensation unlike any other, the push and stretch of it, the burning fullness and the bone deep satisfaction of being filled full, being taken over so completely.

“Good?”

Papa's hands curls around Omega's sharp hipbones, thumbs digging into the hollows above his pelvis, gripping him hard enough to bruise. He manhandles Omega's body with breathtaking ease, practically lifting him up and pulling him down to meet each thrust as Omega rolls his hips and flexes his thighs.

They move together, slowly at first then faster, harder, finding their rhythm as they wring pleasure from each others’ bodies.

“That’s it,” Papa rasps, low and ragged. “That’s it, that’s perfect, oh Satan--” He’s babbling, heedless of the words spilling out of his mouth as he loses himself in need and instinct. “Look at you, riding my cock like a perfect whore. You’re so good, you’re so good, so tight and hot and perfect for me.” He brings his hand up to Omega's chest, tugs hard on the chain connecting his nipples; the clamps tighten painfully, biting hard into the bruised and swollen flesh, making Omega keen high and sharp at the sharp bite, the sensation something completely beyond pain now, blending seamlessly into incandescent pleasure as he pistons himself up and down, fucking himself steadily on Papa's lovely, demanding cock.

Papa tugs on the chain one last time, then reaches for the left clamp, releasing it and flicking it away without warning; for a long second the pain disappears at the release of pressure, but then the blood and sensation rush back into the tortured nerves in a burst of searing agony that makes Omega shake and howl. Papa steadies him with a hand splayed across his back, dips his head to soothe the burning flesh with gentle swipes of his soft wet tongue, never losing rhythm as he fucks him steadily through the pain.

After a few moments that feels like an eternity, the burning begins to ebb, and Omega feels Papa's fingers circling his right nipple, reaching for the tightened clamp.

“No,” he pleads, shaking his head "Please, no."

“I have to, you know I have to,” Papa breathes into his skin as he releases the tiny metal jaws. Omega screams.

The pain is phosphorescent, his nipple on fire, and this time he cries for real, tears streaming down his face as Papa suckles and licks, the cooling saliva quenching the terrible burn. As the pain finally fades, the endorphins kick into high gear, pain and pleasure merging into a whirlpool of quicksilver tension, hot and demanding, filling his groin and belly, a rising tide held back only by the thin strip of black leather wrapped tight around his purpling, swollen cock.

Omega has slipped into the deepest subspace now, beyond thought, beyond words; he only gives a low, desperate moan, the noise of a trapped and tormented animal, tortured not just by pain but also pleasure.

“Shh, shh,” Papa murmurs, finally taking pity on his gasping, writhing desperation. He reaches between Omega's legs, unsnapping the cock ring that’s kept him teetering on the brink and tossing it aside. Omega whimpers in gratitude at the tremendous sensation of relief as his freed balls draw up tight against his body, his orgasm already approaching fast and hard. Papa fumbles for the lube, wraps slicked fingers around his cock.

“You’re gonna come so hard, aren’t you?” he rasps, fist pistoning up and down as he jerks hard at Omega's cock. “I love to watch you come, that’s it, pretty ghoul, come for me, come for me now --”

“Yes,” Omega gasps, “Yes, yes, Papa --”

The tension winds up even higher, up to the breaking point, the pressure almost unbearable, then something in him breaks free, and he feels himself begin to fall over the edge, the involuntary contractions beginning, his abdomen tightening and his cock twitching and beginning to spill before he feels the release. A split second later the orgasm hits him, a wave of incandescent, mind-numbing bodily pleasure that seizes every nerve ending and carries him to a place beyond, a place where nothing matters except the shuddering ripples of bliss that transcend life and death and the boundaries of his physical self.

He shudders and moans, still riding Papa's cock as he spurts, warm and wet on Papa's hand and his own belly. Papa gasps and curses and thrusts up into him hard, the stimulation of it tipping him over unexpectedly, into a second, smaller, but more prolonged orgasm.

“Satan, Lucifee, look at you, fuck, fuck,” Papa pants, nonsensically, as Omega shivers and moans, still eagerly riding his cock, his exhausted cock dribbling weakly as he chases the endless rippling aftershocks of pleasure. His second climax is still echoing through his body when Papa grabs him by the hips, hard, and pistons into him, over and over, his cock feeling even hotter and harder inside Omega than it did just a moment ago.

“Gonna come in you,” he growls. “Gonna come in you and fill you up, make it drip down your thighs, ahh, fuck.” He draws in a sharp intake of breath, pulling Omega close, rising up to meet him, burying his face in his neck with a low guttural moan as he as he comes.

Omega can feel every shiver coursing under Papa's skin, every hot pulsing throb of come as it spills into his body.

“Fuck,” Papa groans, as his hips push upward one last time and then stills.

The two of them breathe together for a time, both of them gasping for air as if they’d just run a marathon.

Which Omega supposes they have, after a fashion.

After a few moments as the endorphins begin to ebb away. Omega begins to realise that a great many places on his body hurt. A lot.

Papa makes a similar discovery; he exhales, a little shakily. “My ghoul,’” he says, sounding a bit strangled, “Um, I can’t -- I need you to --”

Papa shoves him rather ungenerously with his knee, and Omega belatedly discovers he’s resting his full thirteen stone of body weight directly on top of Papa's smaller frame.

“Of course,” he says, voice creaky from exertion and recent rough use. He lifts himself up gingerly, the muscles in his thighs clamouring in protest; Papa's softening cock sliding out of him with a wet, slippery noise. He tries to swing his knee up and over to clamber off, but his legs are shakier than he thinks, and he ends up collapsing, still half-laying on Papa.

“Here, wait, let me --” Papa wriggles out from under Omega and carefully yet competently manouevers him onto his right side, quickly unfastening his cuffs from the chain tethers them, then helping him roll onto his back before rubbing feeling back into his hands.

“Thank you,” Omega says, and then makes a face at his own awkward and slightly foolish formality, especially after what they’d just done together.

The transition back to normalcy is sometimes a little tricky, after all. Omega closes his eyes and wills the awkward, painfully self-aware moment to pass.

“Water?” Papa asks him.

Omega nods, not opening his eyes.

Papa plucks the water from the table, nudges Omega with the bottle. “C’mon, love. Roll onto your side for me?”

Omega obeys, raising himself up on one elbow, allowing Papa to bring the bottle of water to his lips. He drinks and drinks, then takes the bottle from Papa's hand and drinks some more. He’d had no idea how dehydrated he’d become.

“All right?” Papa asks.

Omega looks up at him, at his beautiful green eyes, concerned and full of love and care. Feeling more himself now, rather like he’s returned to his own skin after an extended holiday, he cocks an eyebrow, gives Papa a bit of a grin.

“Sadomasochism is thirsty work,” he observes sardonically.

Papa laughs, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“It certainly is,” he says. “Give me some of that?”

Omega hands over the bottle, and Papa finishes off the rest of the water.

Omega reaches for Papa's waist, pulls him closer. Papa twines his legs around him obligingly, presses a kiss into his tangled and sweaty hair as Omega makes himself comfortable, face pressed into the side of Papa's equally sweaty flank.

They’ve both become accustomed to sub drop, but today’s isn’t a bad one at all. It’s just a brief dip, a tightening in Omega's throat and a vague emptiness that Papa soothes with kisses and murmured endearments.

The moment passes, and Omega feels languorous, sleepy, pleasantly fuzzed by his exertions.

“You want ice?” Papa asks. “Your nipples are going be spectacularly bruised. Those new clamps don’t mess around.”

Omega waves him off. “S’all right.”

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the marks. Even more honestly, he truly enjoys the marks Papa leaves on him, the more spectacular the better, and he knows he’ll spend the better part of a week admiring his bruised and sore nipples, even pinching them covertly to make the ache flare up, a visceral reminder of the way the heavy chain bounced against his chest, tightening the clamps every time Papa thrust up into him. He’ll treasure those marks, and he’ll be begging Papa to give him new ones well before they even begin to fade.

They’ve barely finished, and Omega is already thinking about how soon they can do this again.

.“Well come on, we gotta have bath.”

“And then ointment?” Omega asks. Papa rubbing the cool, minty, probably useless ointment into his marks, cooing and fussing over each one -- it’s not the best part of their game, but it’s close, and Omega loves it with an odd, passionate intensity.

“There will always be ointment.” Papa says, bending to kiss his forehead, and Omega knows he means it joking but it comes out oddly gentle and tender, a promise of love and caretaking that makes Omega's chest go tight, just for a second.

This isn’t just a game, he thinks, in one of those all-too-rare moments of shocking clarity. This is about so much more than that.

He’s on the brink of saying so when Papa straightens up and turns away, ducking into the ensuite to start the bath. Omega hears him turn on the taps, opening and closing cabinets, locating towels and shampoo.

“Come on, Omega,” Papa calls. “Before the water gets cold.”

Omega gives himself a stern mental shake, pushes aside the melodramatic introspection.

There may be (will be) problems down the road, but at this particular moment? The sexiest man he've evet met is waiting for him in a hot bath, and he may still be terrible with so many social cues but Omega has finally learned, somewhere over the past years, how to occasionally stop himself from ruining a perfect moment.

So he won’t ruin this one.

Tomorrow’s problems will be dealt with tomorrow, he decides as he climbs out of the demolished bedclothes to join Papa in the steaming tub.

**Author's Note:**

> I still appreciate comments :D!


End file.
